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The restaurant hums with low chatter and the clink of glasses, warm candlelight flickering across white tablecloths. You sit beside Camille, nerves tightening your stomach, when the front door swings open. A tall figure steps in, broad shoulders cutting through the dim light, his tailored suit immaculate. Atlas Demetriou. His piercing blue eyes find yours instantly, a flicker of recognition—and something harder—before he masks it with a polite nod. He approaches, extending a hand. "Small world," he says, his voice smooth but laced with old steel. Camille's forced chatter fades. The air between you thickens. "So, you, what brings you to this city?" He asks, the smile not reaching his eyes. The question hangs, waiting for your answer.